


ocean of emotion

by mylittleraygun



Category: Homestuck
Genre: 1250 words maybe, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, dave is literally just thnking about stuff thats the whole fic, i dont actually remember, i guess thats a good tag to add, its something like that, kind of short i guess, there is no plot our kid is just thinking, yeah its like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26389855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylittleraygun/pseuds/mylittleraygun
Summary: When you are being honest to yourself, you don’t think you’re going to make it out of this, to move past what happened.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	ocean of emotion

**Author's Note:**

> yall im sorry for overusing italics again i just like them  
> im that meme of marge and its like "i just think theyre neat!" but its italics  
> oh my god im so tired

All you’ve been able to think about lately is the ocean. You grew up in a place of heat and haze and harsh words left unsaid. A lot has changed since then. When your past was the present it tried to make you strong, brave, but you ended up rubbery and sunburnt, skin flaky and deep in denial. Now though, it tries to suffocate you, to drown you in memories. To make the past overwhelm the present, to submerge you until all you can hear is his voice telling you just how much you need him. It’s a much more subtle form of punishment. Most of the time, it’s just the warning bells in the back of your head, and the mist at the edge of your vision that must mean you are drowning. You’re always drowning, you think. It’s just usually, there’s something there to distract you as you struggle for air.

The most annoying thing is when people think that they understand it. When, after years, you still wear the shades, and they finally get a glimpse, they think “oh.” They- everyone, John, Karkat, even Dirk and Rose, who know you much more than you would like- and tend to get all analytical and witty about it- thinking that they get why you cover them up, refuse to take off your sunglasses for even a moment, not to sleep, not to shower, not for the whole goddamn world you helped create. 

They’re wrong, though. Dead wrong. As if it’s just the hue, making you childishly self-conscious. When is it ever that simple? The thing is, it was never your eyes that bothered you. The deep red that stares back in the mirror when you dare to take the shades off is just a side effect of your albinism, nothing more. You don’t care to stifle the color at all, that’s never what you’ve worried over late at night, always making sure your glasses are on right, alone in a small bed like how it always was.

It’s about the emotions that your eyes reveal. The unfiltered terror, or worse, the hint of angry defiance that you stifle as best you can, he can’t see that. Not pure, anyway. If it isn’t obscured in a thick fog of self deprecation and irony, it isn’t tolerable. Unacceptable. Because emotions are a weakness, to him. He’s pushed all his repressed insecurities onto you, his fear of being truly known. It’s a pain in your ass, is what it is. 

You inherited all his bullshit, and spiced it up with some of your own flaws. He lost touch with everyone he knew, or maybe he never knew anyone in the first place, you don’t know him. He’s terrified of emotional attachment of any sort. He’s homophobic, obviously just upset that he likes it up the ass, but he infected you with it, and you still catch yourself saying things you don’t believe. He wears a mask, just like you do, but his is an impenetrable, unbreakable facade, wrapped in stony faces and the subtle, almost unnoticeable, disapproving frowns. Yours is constantly falling apart, and you're scrambling to pull the pieces back together.

So when you’re watching Karkat slowly falling asleep on the couch, the soft yellow light from the shitty movie hitting his face just right, but leaving you alone with your thoughts, it feels painful. You would never tell him this, you know he would take it the wrong way, but in those moments you wish you never started talking to him, loving him, that he ever made the effort to get to know you behind the mask. 

Because in times like those, it’s so goddamn hard. You’re drowning in conflicting emotions and bittersweet recollections of your adolescence that you have no idea what to do with. Now, you can let your feelings out sometimes, if only a bit, a side of yourself that only he gets to see. He’ll sweep you up out of the ocean of emotion and onto a nice, Karkat-shaped island, and you remember that you can get past everything that’s happened. But back then, when you were the deepest you’ve ever been, so far below the surface that you could feel the pressure in your ears and all you could see was the murky, blank, black water, you turned your emotions blank too. Sank to the bottom of the deep dark and sat, waiting, your last breath burning in your chest. 

It’s funny how much he’s changed around you, how he’s mellowed out as he learned your secrets. Karkat was always so angry, so pissed off at your attitude, in the beginning. Back when he thought you were just a wannabe coolkid, no personality behind the shallow facade of irony and rap and bullshit. That you riled him up for kicks, an immature attempt at superiority. Now he knows better. He saw your mask crack, watched as the pieces crumbled and fell into that dark water. He, along with most everyone in your small family, has to deal with just how broken you are on a daily basis. 

There's a list of movies you can’t watch without panicking over. The knife holder in the kitchen had to be replaced because the sound it made was so terribly like that of a sword sliding slowly from its sheath. You have to sleep tangled up on the couch with Karkat most nights, just so you calm down enough to remember where you are when you wake up from a particularly bad nightmare. You still have a closet stash, you don’t think you’ll ever feel safe without it. They are all constantly putting up with you, more than that, they’re caring for you, loving you, in a way you didn’t know you needed let alone deserved. 

And you love them for that, but it makes things worse, in a way. It becomes overwhelming, and then you’re drowning again. The harsh, beating sun is what you understand, how you function. And then you had all these people who didn’t need a reason to care about you, didn’t need you to prove yourself to them at all? It feels like you’re cheating. Like the universe is waiting around the corner, ready to tear apart everything you care about. You expect it on your bad days and fear it, but have hope, on the good ones.

When you are being honest to yourself, you don’t think you’re going to make it out of this, to move past what happened. It feels like an insurmountable task, to act like you aren’t broken, to act like it’s worth it to stay by you, like all your sharp edges and broken pieces are going to mend someday. And they won’t. 

Does that mean your brother won? Hooray, he fucked you up beyond repair? Karkat would say otherwise, that he lost because you’re here, and he’s not. You beat him, because he’s gone, and you’re sitting in the present. But you know better. You know him better. He probably planned out his death from the beginning, you think, when you feel his cold stare on your back and the ghost of his vice-like grip on your shoulder. He’s smirking as he leans over, whispering in your ear. “You’ll never get rid of me,” he’s saying, getting the final word in and yet never opening his mouth. 

And you nod, readjusting your shades. You know that. You always have.

**Author's Note:**

> if you have critiques or comments or whatever please say something because this is my first fic that is like this and i cant tell if its trash or okay


End file.
